we howl to the moon
by BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: When Riley is the only person matching the description, centered perfectly in the crosshairs of her rifle, Maya starts to sob. / or: riley's a werewolf. maya's a hunter. you can do the math.


**it's basically halloween right**

 **disclaimed**

* * *

 **...**

* * *

Maya Penelope Hart.

Six pounds, three ounces. Twenty two inches long.

Her father takes one look at her and decides that she's weak. He won't admit it, but that's when he decides to leave.

 **...**

They keep up the charade for a while, her parents. Her father goes to work, selling arms to other clans; her mother stays home with a silent baby, whose eyes are wide and blue and see all. Her mother turns away when there's blood on her father's sleeves.

It's an open secret that neither are willing to broach.

 **...**

When Maya is six months old, her father leaves and takes all trace of the life with him. Her mother helps him pack; she hands him his guns, one after another, and in return he leaves her with the only weapon she ever learned to handle.

"For protection," he murmurs, eyes sliding towards their daughter, small and quiet and still awake. It is the first time he shows any care for her. It is the last time he shows any care for her.

Katy takes the crossbow, her hands steady for the first time in months. "Don't ever come back," she hisses.

He doesn't.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Maya grows up when her mother isn't looking, too busy balancing checkbooks and serving trays and jobs. She's a little feral, a little predatory—always has been, always will be.

She picks up street brawling easy, and she's always the smallest in a fight. She comes home bruised and bloody more times than she doesn't, and her grandmother stops asking questions after a while.

At some point, she starts to win. At some point, she starts to enjoy the taste of blood in her mouth.

At some point, it stops scaring her.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Her father is a mythical being. He's not a topic that her mother is willing to broach, and her grandmother refers to him as _that awful man_. Maya can only think about him in the abstract. A concept. You can't hate someone that you've never met, she thinks.

What she doesn't think about is the hate that grows in her lungs, boils in her wrists. What she can't think about is the hate.

He is a concept. You can't hate a concept.

But you can hate a piece of paper.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Maya finds her birth certificate on her fourteenth birthday.

Gammy is picking up the cake that she thinks Maya doesn't know about, and her mother is working an extra shift to keep the lights on. Maya is poking around the linen closet, because after years of research, she knows that that's where her family hides all her gifts, on a shelf that's just out of her reach. She takes the chair from the kitchen and finds a plain cardboard box.

Smiling, she thinks she's won another battle.

"What are we getting this year?" she whispers to the empty house, lifting off the lid and expecting to see one of the books she asked for, or maybe the iPod she knows her mother has been saving up for.

Instead, she finds a crossbow and a birth certificate.

 **...**

Like I said—you can hate a piece of paper.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

"Who is this to you, again?" Farkle asks, frowning at his computer screen.

"Some guy," Maya mumbles, averting her eyes when Farkle peers up at her.

"I—," he starts, making a face at the screen.

"What?" Maya comes around to stand beside him, her suspicion spiking when he hastily closes out the window he was looking at. "What was that?"

The little computer nerd won't meet her eyes, but he says in a rush, "He might be a murderer. Of the serial variety."

Maya's blood runs cold. She leans over Farkle and reopens the window.

 **...**

Kermit Clutterbucket was not his real name. But it was the name he was best known by, the name all his crimes are listed under.

Maya takes the lead that Farkle gives her and chases it. She wants to ask her mother if she knew about this double life he must have been leading, but her mother's face looks more and more like glass every day and Maya doesn't want to be the reason that she finally breaks.

Instead, she takes up residence at the public library and teaches herself how to navigate the dark net.

 **...**

Hunting clans take a while to stumble upon. But when she does, she knows.

Something in her lights up, some small, closed off part sparking to life, and she _knows._

 **...**

Patience has never been a virtue of Maya's, but she learns to manage it. She learns and she plans and she waits.

On Sunday, the church bells from down the street are ringing when Maya wakes. The irony is not lost on her, considering what she plans to do.

Her mother is set to work back to back shifts for the next two days, and she tells Gammy that she's sleeping over at a friend's. On the subway, Maya's a little nervous, which isn't entirely unwarranted, since she has a duffel with a crossbow in it beside her.

She takes the train upstate, hands folded neatly in her lap, knuckles still bruised from the last fight she was in, on Friday. The ride passes quietly, city giving way to suburbia, giving way to small town country side, and Maya's legs only shake a little when disembarks.

 **...**

From what she knows, her father's new wife and their children will be at services until noon. She arrives at their house at ten am.

For the heir to one of the biggest hunting clans, her father really doesn't have a lot of security on his house, and Maya jumps the fence and slices open the screen door with ease.

Her father—Kermit Clutterbucket, Daniel McDermott, Nicholas Argent—is watching Good Morning America in his pajamas.

"Lazy Sunday?" she can't help but asking, aiming the crossbow at the back of his neck. Her father jumps; she can't decide what name to call him yet. "Ah, ah, ah," she says when she catches his hand inching towards the space between the couch cushions. "You're kind of a dick, but would you really kill your own kid?"

 **...**

"Maya—," he starts, his jaw set.

"You don't get to say my name," Maya hisses. "You kind of lost that right."

Her father raises his hands in surrender. "What should I call you?"

"Right now?" Maya raises her eyebrows at him, waving the crossbow carelessly. "Right now, you don't get to call me anything. Right now, you're going to give me a one word answer. Train me."

Her father's face pales. "Absolutely not."

"What about one word don't you understand?" Maya sighs. She moves closer, trusting that whatever honor code his family has about not shedding hunting blood will hold.

"Look, buddy," she says, pressing the crossbow to his neck. "I'm not saying I'm expecting much, but I figure you've fucked me up enough to owe me one."

 **...**

"You told me she _died_ , Nick—."

"Because that's what I thought—."

"Don't fucking lie to me."

Maya looks away from watching her father's children play in the backyard. There are three of them. She has three siblings—a boy, Alex, who is eight, and twin girls, Melanie and Penelope, who're five. Hearing her sister's name felt like a punch to the gut, but she's over that now. Honest. They're cuter than anything, and Maya's letting their wide eyed awe of her act as a balm to any other wounds.

Her father and his wife, Emmeline, moved to the kitchen to discuss things, and Maya's sure that there was quite a bit to discuss; when Emmeline and the kids came back from church, Maya and her father were staring each other down over pizza, and Nicholas Argent had some extensive explaining to do.

Through the closed kitchen door, Maya hears her father sigh, hears him give up. Maya, from what little she's seen of her, has a healthy dose of respect and fear for the woman. The kitchen door bangs open, swinging back violently and smacking her father in the face. Maya can't help but grin.

"Maya?" Emmeline stands, hands on hips. She's very pretty, with a lovely accent, and Maya can't hate her just on the basis of being her father's wife. But her eyes are flint and maybe Maya can learn. "Welcome to the fold," Emmeline says, smiling, all teeth.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

And so Maya trains.

She trains and she trains and she trains until her fingers bleed, until her legs shake and her hands shake and her whole damn world shakes. She trains to be the best, because in this world, Maya Hart does not have the option to fail.

In this world, Maya Hart is still very much alone, no cheerleader to remind her that she's good enough.

In this world, Maya Hart still needs the approval of a man that left.

And so, she becomes the best.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Riley Prudence Matthews is born during the first snowfall of the season. S

he'll grow to hate her middle name one day, but today, she is small and squalling and her parents look at her and feel the axis of the world shift.

 **...**

Her father doesn't leave.

Her mother works long hours, but is always home by bedtime.

Riley Matthews grows up as the center of her parents' world. When a second sun is added, they leave the city. Too hectic, her mother tells her, on the drive upstate, all their belongings in the trunk or the truck behind them.

"We're going to be very happy here," her mother promises.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The town Riley Matthews grows up in is a small one.

Her neighbors know her as the sweet faced little girl that brings her baby brother around with her everywhere, hand in hand. Her neighbors smile and wave when they pass on the street. Her neighbors usher her into their homes when the sun goes down, until her parents come and get her in their car.

The community is quiet and close knit. Her mother volunteers with the town committee, planning fundraisers and charity events. Her father teaches at the local middle school and heads the PTA. Auggie plays baseball on Saturdays, Riley plays soccer on Sundays, after church.

The town is safer than the city, her parents gush, excited that they can feel comfortable letting their two suns walk home alone.

No one mentions the odd disappearances.

Runaways, the town whispers.

Pay no attention to the runaways.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

One day, years later, in the fall, Riley and Auggie take advantage of the last warm moments of the year. The sun goes down faster than Riley was expecting, than Riley would have liked, but the street lights shine brightly and there's a can of pepper spray at the bottom of her bag.

The streets are empty, and Auggie, despite claiming he's too old to hold hands, slips his into hers.

The wind—

Riley thinks—

hopes it's the wind—

the wind rustles the bushes that line the park.

 **...**

"Hey, Aug. call—."

 **...**

The wolves come then.

The wolves, snarling, snapping, vicious—

the wolves surround them. Riley pushes Auggie behind her. She can't shield him from the wolves—

no, they're everywhere—

but she can try.

 **...**

Here is what their neighbors never told them: the runaways were taken. The alpha that runs this territory requires is new recruit, every year. He makes it look like a runaway, and the child grows up in the woods outside of town.

Here is what their neighbors never told them: you're not supposed to stay out after nine.

 **...**

The alpha goes after Auggie. The pack likes to turn them young, and females aren't much good to them for anything but breeding.

Riley goes for Auggie. He is her little brother, and she is not about to let him die.

 **...**

They meet in the middle. The alpha's teeth rip through Riley's side like she's made of paper and the pain is blinding, but all she sees is Auggie, some dirt on his cheek from the park.

Riley tells Auggie to run and he does. The wolves scatter, running back to whatever hidey hole they came from. Riley bleeds in the middle of the street. No one told the Matthews.

Why did no one tell the Matthews?

 **...**

But nights have to end. When this night ends, Riley gets up and walks home, her hair red from blood.

The neighbors gawk. They've never seen one come back.

Her parents call it a miracle. Auggie slips his hand into hers and stares at the spot on her side that should be ripped open—

he saw it get ripped open.

 **...**

They figure it out soon enough.

The Matthews flee back to the city, when they realize what Riley is.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Riley is the same as she's always been, as she is in every incarnation of herself—a little less goofy, maybe. A little more in control of her limbs, a little more likely to catch herself before she falls.

But she still twirls when she's happy and talks in bad accents and gives her baby brother piggyback rides when he says he's tired. She still brings home stray animals that look like they could use some love, because she's got so much of it to give.

But this Riley is very much alone as well. This Riley doesn't have a Maya yet, doesn't have a tiny blonde to take the brunt of the blows, to soften and shape the world into something safe, something welcoming. This Riley has sharp edges in odd places; this Riley can't stand being out after dark.

This Riley hears everything that goes bump in the night and she jumps at every sound.

 **...**

Riley keeps her claws sheathed, her canines dull and keeps her heart between her teeth just in case.

Her mother did her reading.

Riley, as an omega, is vulnerable. More vulnerable than she was the night she turned, and the hunting clans that patrol the continent have a weak contingent on the eastern seaboard, more worried about the situation in the west, but they're here just the same.

"You need to be careful," her mother urges, holding her face between her hands. "Promise me you'll be careful."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Riley can't promise this. She was being careful that terrible night. She walked in the street lights, had one hand on Auggie and the other on her pepper spray, took all the proper precautions.

Riley Matthews has spent her entire life being careful, and yet, here she is, wild and cold and impossibly cruel, when the moon is up.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Her parents rent a storage unit and equip it with chains—there are no other packs this far east, except for the one that turned her, and they aren't willing to teach her how to control it. Once a month, her mother takes her and she chains her to a wall.

"I'm right outside," her mother promises her, but they both know that the only threat is Riley herself.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Riley is careful, even if she can't promise her mother that she'll remain so. She walks in the light and she keeps her hands in fists and almost finds herself forgetting that she has claws. She has nightmares, which is to be expected, but so does Auggie, and he ends up sleeping in her room more nights than not.

The Matthews get by.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

They meet. Because in any universe, they have to meet.

It's Riley's first day of high school, though it's a good two weeks into the year, and she is running off of two hours of restless sleep thanks to shadows that creep across her bedroom door. She hears the steel toe boots long before she sees the owner.

It's Maya's third Monday of the school year, and she's got a set of stitches pulling at her side when she takes a step, thanks to a rogue druid in Boston. By the time she makes it to her first class, the only desk open is next to the new girl.

Someone drops their stack of textbooks to the ground, then. The girl jumps half out of her seat and her hands won't stop shaking, no matter how much she tries to get them to. Whatever softness left in Maya sparks up, heart twisting, recognizing some part of herself in the girl.

"Rough night?" she whispers, dropping into the seat. New Girl looks up sharply, pretty lips pressed into a frown, and she nods.

It's as easy as that.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

They're good.

They're so good, because there's no way that they couldn't be anything but the best for one another.

Maya sees something terrible and sad in Riley's dark eyes some nights, but she's also convinced that Riley's made out of sunshine—a few clouds, sometimes, but sunshine nonetheless.

Riley sees how light Maya's shoulders get when she laughs—she still thinks that Maya is the best bad influence in the world, even if sometimes she shows these intense moments of _good_ , Riley's not sure why she keeps calling herself bad.

They're best friends—the best—and then, suddenly, more.

They slip into it without realizing it, until one day it's Riley stop on the subway and she kisses Maya goodbye like it's something they do every day. It takes a minute for what's happened to settle, and Riley's nearly at the doors when she spins back around and makes her way back.

"I just kissed you," she whispers, grabbing Maya's hand and tangling their fingers together. There's something in Maya that's breaking, some small part of her that can't reconcile who she is with who she loves, but she grins because Riley's grinning, and the warmth from Riley's hand takes over quickly enough.

"Yeah," Maya agrees. "I guess you did."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

And then—because how on earth could the devil expect to be happy?—

And then Maya's phone rings.

Maya's phone—

the phone her father gave her, a dedicated line for the killing business, because that's what her family does, she's starting to realize—

Maya's phone rings. "We've got a rogue," her father tells her gruffly, and May reaches for her gun. She has a date with Riley tonight, she thinks. If she takes care of this quickly, she can make it.

Her father gives her an address, and a time. A description. Something feels intrinsically wrong, but this is what her family does. This is what her father does. This is what she does.

And so Maya goes.

 **.** **.** **.**

When Riley is the only person matching the description, centered perfectly in the crosshairs of her rifle, Maya starts to sob.

 **.** **.** **.**

She meets Riley for their date later, crying, with a silver knife pressed against the small of her back. She knows it's there, and she knows she would rather have Riley rip her throat out than use it.

 **.** **.** **.**

"I'm supposed to kill you," Maya tells Riley, finally. "It's what I do."

"I know, Peaches," Riley tells Maya, finally. "You always smell like gunpowder."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

(Riley's known for a while. Maya's hands burn of silver sometimes, and Riley's always careful to tugs the rings off of her fingers when they're together. She comes to a date stinking of blood, moving far too stiffly for tripping up the stairs, like she tells Riley. It's easy enough to put it together.

Sometimes Maya smells like wolfsbane. Sometimes Riley buries her face in her hair anyway.

Her mother never told her what to do if she fell in love with a girl that carried death in her palms)

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Maya's father doesn't take the news well.

To put it mildly.

"What the fuck do you mean _she got away_?" her father screams, face red. Maya doesn't flinch. She may have at one point, but there's something very precious about the way Riley says her name, and so she doesn't flinch.

Sliding her thumb across the knife strapped to her thigh (steel, not silver), Maya repeats in an even tone. "The target turned at the last second," she starts. "I winged her, but she ran. I couldn't very well pursue, considering I was fifteen floors above street level."

"Stop lying," her father hisses. He grabs Maya's face roughly. "Stop fucking _lying_."

Maya tries to pull away, jerking back just for his fingers to dig in. "You can't touch her," Maya spits finally.

When her father smiles, it's an ugly thing—Maya think she knows why he doesn't do it very often. He leans in close, closer and closer until Maya thinks that she can see where blood has settled into the wrinkles around his eyes.

"I was right," her father grins terribly. "You are weak."

She's not expecting the first punch.

She only makes that mistake once.

 **...**

When Maya comes to tell Riley that she's safe, for now, she comes with a bruise blooming on her shoulder, her ribs, her cheek, her nose still bleeding, but she manages a smile for her girl anyway.

Riley suddenly remembers that she has claws.

 **...**

("Don't make this all for nothing," Maya begs, grabbing her wrist when she tries to leave.

Riley remembers that Maya forgets that she has claws, sometimes)

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Maya takes on every damn hunter that dares come after Riley, as vicious and incredibly cruel as she was trained to be. She leaves them broken and bloody and bruised, until it's a well-known fact among the east coast contingencies that the omega in Manhattan is off limits—that if you go after her, you wake up with a knife to your throat.

Eventually, they head west—they have to, because the peace Maya's secured for them is tenuous at best.

It's scary. Of course it's scary, leaving everything you know behind. But Riley keeps Maya's hand in hers and Maya keeps one eye on her shotgun in the backseat, and they're okay.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

("Maya?" Allison asks when they pile out of the car.

Maya nods; Riley grabs her hand without even looking at her.

"You must be Riley," Allison continues, smiling)

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

("Welcome to the pack.")

 ** _fin_**


End file.
